Playing with Fire

My satisfaction with community and critical-thinking lessons took a severe beating on Thursday. The week before, some of my male students were passing notes about a desire to exclude an unsportsmanlike student from their play-group. The other student became aware of this during lunch and was sobbing, still, when I went to start our after-lunch activity. I cancelled the activity and sat us down in our circle. I convinced the students to talk about the problems and come to a conclusion, issuing apologies and agreements to give the problem student one more chance to play with them. It was great, the students who were not involved in the event were still participating in the discussion, offering perspectives, opinions and compromises. Hours later, I already saw the boys playing together again. Jazzed, I daily encouraged my kids to take on similar problem-solving exercises in our morning meeting.

At first, it went well. K----, F---- and M---- sorted out their talking and sharing problems. C----- and T----- resolved a lingering teasing issue. Then, N--- got a hold of an exceedingly profane note from J---. The note included a reference to B----, to whom N--- showed the note and who then wanted to bring it up in the class’ morning meeting. J---, one of the most successful students in the class, was distraught. Amid tears, she accepted fault for, but then denied writing, the note. She lashed out at B---, who she alleged had started a rumor that J--- liked K---. B--- said it wasn’t her but C---, a good friend of J---. C--- accepted blame for the rumor and said it was an expression of her frustration with J---‘s perennial bossy attitude and recent bout of “being mean.” Others nodded and confirmed the complaints. Thus betrayed, J---- just cried even more.

I felt like a kid who had been playing with matches and was now facing a house engulfed with flame. J--- was far too hysterical to apologize or rationally discuss the issues. The class was palpably discontent with the lack of resolution. I had no clue how to bring our meeting to a close, how to refocus on instruction, or even how to get J--- to stop crying. I tried to suppress the flames by recognizing J---‘s willingness to accept her friends criticism, how hard it was for her. I couldn’t congratulate the class on a good class meeting because the emotions were too raw. I called for some “good things” to say about J---. Few hands went up. Worst of all, I was leaving the classroom to go on an observation a few minutes later.

Once I had the class back at their seats, free-writing on our morning, I took J--- outside. She is one of my favorites and constant allies in my drives to develop a good connection with my female students. She again took credit for the note and confessed that she had been worried about getting in serious trouble for her remarks and bringing more problems to her already troubled family. She said there was a lot she had going on at home that her mother wouldn’t let her tell anyone about. She said it made her so angry that she was being bossy and she was being mean, that she knew she was being a bad friend but she couldn’t control herself. I felt like she was waving a red flag for help, but I had no idea what to say, I had a class of 32 other students waiting inside the door, I had to leave in 10 minutes, and I deeply suspected she didn’t want to talk to her young male teacher about any of this. So, I sent J--- to visit with the kindly school librarian. When I came back, I saw her frolicking on the playground at recess.

Somewhere in the midst of that, it suddenly dawned on me that my prior success with this classroom community stuff was more than a little bit luck. Now I know there’s a whole art to it and I haven’t even read the books.

“Different”

Apologies for the length. You’ve had a month off.

From the moment R--- came into my room, it was clear that he was unusual. In his first morning meeting, he excitedly told us about a trip to Mexico, to which many responded, “You’re Mexican? You speak Spanish?” He replied, “Si, yo soy Mexicano-Americano. I am Mexican-American.” But it was like no Spanish we had ever heard. I dismissed it as a primarily English background influencing his Spanish pronunciation.

In his second morning meeting, however, he told us, “If I’m good, my mom will buy me a bolt of cloth and I can sew some curtains for my room.” That’s when I started to think he was what my kids call “different.”

The incidents go on. Wednesday, R---- sports bright purple, sparkling mittens, waving them excitedly as he sits down in our circle. Thursday, he reveals that he’s excited about this weekend because he wants to watch Disney’s “Anastasia.” Friday, he comes to school draped in a rainbow colored Crayola poncho. His favorite sports are swimming and ice skating. He uses a pen with an enormous feather. He asked the principal if the student council would sponsor a “Bring Your Teddy Bear to School Day.” He makes himself jewelry. He draws 19th century costumes for women. He tells us about how he looks just like his mother when she was his age.
Worst of all, he doesn’t play sports. For my 10-year-old-going-on-7 boys, all eccentricities would be forgiven if R--- would just play soccer or football or basketball. But instead he runs around, on his own, flying his poncho as a kite. He shows off his reversible teal and white parka and waves his matching muffler in the air.

Fate would have it that R---- is brilliant. His vocabulary tops the class; featured terms include, “median,” “electro-static vibrations,” and “graphic novels.” He reads at the top of the class, he understands subtlety, he does not flinch during grammar lessons. He would fit in perfectly with the smart-girl group in my class but someone started a rumor that one of the girls likes him (of all things!) and they won’t associate with him.

It was only a matter of time, of course. And that time turned out to be about 3 weeks. Late last week, I began hearing that people are calling him “gay,” I noticed that he still hadn’t made any friends, I heard from him that the other boys call him “la nina.”

On Tuesday, with R----‘s consent, I turned the “Social Studies” period away from our study of European Explorers and on to our society today. I began, in the morning, by telling students that I had been hearing that our class is once again looking for “heroes” amid a lot of people who were acting like “cowards.” I didn’t explain, I just asked them to think about what had been going on in the class for the last couple weeks, and write a “Do Now” about it. Many of them already knew exactly what I was talking about.

At the end of the day, as the class was reassembling and while no one was looking, I took aside our lowest English-language learners, a very bright newcomer named A----. I had a student translate for me as I told him that I wanted to use him during a lesson, and that nothing I would say about him was the truth. I told him I knew he was smart and his English was growing amazingly fast. A---, in dramatic contrast to R----, is beloved by the whole class, a mascot for their own background and learning.

I started the lesson by bringing up A----. I suggested that I was a new student who came from a school where they didn’t have many Latino students. Then I brought up F---- (a student I knew liked R---, but was afraid to defend him) and named him a friend of A----. I lambasted A----, called him dumb for not speaking English and asked why F---- would want to be his friend, I told him to be friends with me, don’t hang out with this strange, short little boy. The class went into an uproar and I asked them what F--- should do. People said F---- and A---- should beat me up, people said F--- and A---- should run away, should tell a teacher, should do *something.* We brainstormed somethings F---- could say to me, he practiced saying them, and then sat him back down.

Okay, I said, but what if it wasn’t just me. What if I wasn’t the new kid, what if A---- was the new kid and I had a bunch of friends. I repeated the same row, except now I was making fun of A--- to my friends. Students suggested the same things, F---- should jump in and defend him. I brought up G----, a girl who I was trying to get to be friends with R----, and had her take on the role as we lead her through some things to say to me. She did, the students cheered her on, applauded everybody when we were done and they all sat down.

Then I asked them who was the hero (A! F! G!) and who was the coward (You!). Then I asked them why, if they knew how to be heroes, if they knew exactly what to say and when to say it, why they were all choosing to be cowards. R---- had given me the okay to talk about it and I did. I told them that I knew what would happen if you tried to defend somebody who was new, somebody who had no friends, somebody who seemed so different – you would lose your friends, they would talk about you, they would not invite you to their parties, they would say you liked him. That didn’t make it okay not to be a hero, I told them, it just made it harder. They were really quiet. C---, the hero of the Goldfish, started to tear up.

How many of you, I asked, don’t understand what I’m talking about. A bunch of people raised their hands. I got frustrated, and then, perhaps, I may have crossed the line. I called up R---- and I called up the boy that had been fingered for teasing him most of often, H-----. H---- is a classic ringleader, smart, athletic and doted upon by parents. This time, I lambasted H---- and I had R---- defend him. R---, that amazing and darling little boy, needed no prompting. He was in his element and tore my mockery of H--- to pieces, not satisfied with pretending I was another 5th grader, he responded as if I was a teacher maligning his student! He was great. When he was done, we all applauded. Before they sat down, however, I said “For those of you who don’t know who I’ve been talking about, they’re standing right here.” There was an audible gasp.

Then I had them write. I demanded they write not about the people in front of the class, but about themselves. What they had done. What they were going to change. The smart-girls who I suspect knew that R---- should have been welcomed into their circle, were the most apologetic. Some boys, who are just disinvolved in the class, still didn’t get it. But the page that really got me came from J----, a girl in special ed:

I fill like I shoed stop talcking about people behind ther back. I shoud not make roomers. I shoudent lafe with friends about peopl in the class. On the firs or secund day when the new kid go hear everybody started with roomers. I fill like I was a coward becaus I started some roomers. They started some roomers about [R---]. That wher saying he likes peupl and he was a faget. […] But I kinda think [R---] is wat thay said.

As they were writing, I drew a line horizontally across both of the boards and labeled it, on the left, right and center, “Different.” Then I wrote all their names on the line. When they were done writing, I called their attention to the board. I stood next to one different and asked them to find normal. They couldn’t. I asked why not. They said I didn’t write it on the board. I told them it was because… “normal isn’t in our class. There is no normal. None of you are normal. I think all the time about how different each one of you is. What your English is like, what your math is like, who your friends are, what your family is like, what you like to read, what you like to write about. None of you are normal. If you feel normal, come see me, we’ll talk about how different you are. Stop worrying about who’s different. You’re all different.” Here, I ran out of time.

For homework, I had them come up with a list of 15 ways they were different. Today, we wrote them into paragraphs.

Today, I noticed a lot of people trying to play with R----. I noticed that, for once, no one flinched when he was raving to me about some “girly” thing. I overheard M---, almost sheepishly, ask him if liked to shop at “Hot Topic,” her favorite clothing and accessory store. He foolishly said no…but at least it’s become okay to ask.